The Drunker the Better! At Least, With Hot Company
by PerplexingParadox
Summary: It's funny that the world's savior, a valiant Gryffindork, wouldn't know how to take shots. Cue the devious Slytherin to the rescue! Rated T for language and themes, rating will change next chapter


Story: The Drunker, the better! At Least, With Hot Company

OR

Lessons from an Enemy on How to Drink

Author: PerplexingParadox

Rating: T for this chapter (if only for language and slight alcohol abuse... and my abuse of the characters). Rating will change in Chapter 2!

Word Count: 3,144

Summary: It's funny that the world's savior, a valiant Gryffindork, wouldn't know how to take shots. Cue the devious Slytherin to the rescue!

Warnings: Ummm... language? Alcohol abuse? Oh, and sexy times between our most cannon couple (Drarry)!

(A/N): Hey all! PerplexingParadox here, and I'll be your author for this ficlet! This first chapter is fine for anyone who is okay with a little language, and is looking for a fic with basically no plot, just me taking our favorite characters, and putting them in hilarious (to me) situations! Next chapter, the rating will be bumped up to M, because of the most likely (and by that, I mean 'definite') sexual content. Anyway, I'm not dead! Just started at a new school, and got a lead in the school musical, so I have barely had time to breathe! Would you hate me if I told you that I've had this 3/4 finished for the past 3 months? Anyway, no use crying over spilt milk! This is a 2-shot!

Time Frame: Sometime in sixth year! So YAY for almost everyone still being alive!

Disclaimer: I not own the characters, or anything else but the plot. I also don't own any alcohol. Damn. Hey, imma be right back; I've got to get something at the liquor store... Wait, WHAT? I'm TOTALLY not condoning underage drinking (because I am SO underage)! Anway, on that same topic, all alcohol belongs to the Hufflepuffs, Harry belongs to Draco (and vice versa), and this fantasy belongs to me. Any problems?

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><p><em>'Twas the night before Christmas,<em>

_And all through the tower,_

_Not a creature was stirring,_

_Even… uh… perves in the shower?_

_Okay, I lied. Neville was totally checking out Dean._

Wait, what? This poem is stupid. It doesn't make sense. So, instead of writing some crappy poem that's been used in every bad fic you've ever read, I think that I'll tell you the story of how Harry Potter learned to take shots.

Harry moved quietly and swiftly throughout the still castle. Well, slowly and rather clumsily, more like. But he _did_ stay quiet! Juggling the Marauders Map, his lit wand, a bottle of liquor, and a few shot glasses, all while attempting to keep the invisibility cloak covering him, Harry had to take his time to avoid being caught out with the alcoholic muggle concoction.

When Harry finally reached his destination – a blank stretch of wall in a seventh floor corridor – he set down all of his supplies, whispering, "_Nox,_" under his breath. He faced the empty wall, and started to pace. He concentrated with all of his might, focusing on a few key points in his head, and repeating them over and over again, like a mantra.

_I need somewhere to experiment._

_I need somewhere that I won't be found by unwelcome guests._

_I need somewhere that I can get away from normal life._

_I need somewhere I'm safe._

When he'd passed in front of the wall three times, he faced the blank- or, rather, he faced an old wooden door. On the handle to the door was a small key hole. Harry hesitantly approached the shabby door, inspecting it carefully. He knew full well what the door needed to hear to allow him entrance, but he didn't want to face it. Reluctantly, Harry sighed, pushing his hair out of his face and removing his invisibility cloak.

"I'm Harry Potter, and I've nothing to lose."

As soon as he'd finished the last word, he heard a small click. He pushed on the door warily, and it swung open at his touch. He quickly grabbed his invisibility cloak, the liquor and the shot glasses from the dark hallway, rushing through the door with full arms.

When he stepped inside, taking in the dim lighting, he let out a contented sigh.

The room looked like a mixture between the Hog's Head and the Burrow's kitchen. Familiar enough to be comforting, but with a stale, alcohol-filled stench that reminded him of why he was here. He moved quickly to the bar, sitting down on one of the rickety wooden stools. Behind the bar stood at least a thousand differentlly colored and sized bottles, all lining the vast wall of the Room of Requirement.

All of the bottles were dusty, and glinting in the candle-light of the grimy room. Most strangely, all of the bottles were empty. This, however, did not phase Harry in the slightest. He knew that the room could not conjure food or drink; he merely wanted this place for the atmosphere.

After a few minutes of looking around the shabby bar, Harry realized that he could dawdle no longer. There was no stalling this moment. The moment when he would lose his innocence. He pointed his wand at the top of the bottle, and in his haste cracked the top right off.

He looked at the broken bottle top for a moment, then shrugged; this wouldn't affect the taste.

He picked up the bottle, and poured a small amount into the smallest shot glass that he'd brought. He picked up the little glass, looking at the liquid within. He sniffed tentatively, making a disgusted face. He knew that he was just stalling, so he gave himself a good (mental) kick in the rear.

He raised the little glass into the air, and spoke his toast to his nonexistent companions.

"Hey, I'm glad you all could be here! No, no, it's awesome to be here _all by myself!_ It's fan-fucking-tastic to have my two best friends going home for Christmas, while I waste away here! So a Merry _fucking_ Christmas to me! The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die! Cheers!"

And with that, Harry pressed to shot glass to his lips, and took a sip.

He spluttered at the terrible taste, spewing the small amount that he'd sipped all over the bar. He looked at the mess for a moment, and sighed heavily.

_If only I had a rag that would magically clean the mess for me._

He watched expectantly as a musty rag seemed to appear from thin air – which it probably did – and cleaned up his spit-mixed-with-horrible-tasting-liquor mess. He wiped his mouth and looked back at the still half-empty shot glass moodily, as though it was its fault.

Harry brought the glass back to his lips, at least knowing what to expect this time, as he drank from the small shot glass. He gagged again, and looked at the bottle suspiciously.

Maybe those pansy-ass druggie Hufflepuffs had actually just pissed into the bottle. But he shook his head. No, Ernie had assured him that these guys were the real deal, and had all of the highest-quality stuff.

They just must have left something out. Like, when you had to tap the bricks to get into Diagon Alley, or when you had to pace in front of the Room of Requirement for it to work.

Harry brought out his wand, pointing it at the bottle. He sat for a moment, realizing that he would look insane – and probably drunk off his ass – if he commanded the liquor to taste good.

Harry sighed, realizing that maybe the bad taste was just a price to pay for the buzz that everyone raved about. Maybe it got better as it went along. Harry grudgingly filled another glass, and poured a little into his mouth. Still tasted like week-old shit.

_Whatever,_ Harry thought to himself, and poured the rest onto his tongue, grimacing at the rancid taste. Harry tipped more of the liquid into his glass, and put the shot glass up to his lips again. He considered technique for a moment, and figured that maybe he had to sip it like coffee.

He sucked in quickly, feeling the liquor mostly pass over his tongue. It his the back of his throat – still touching his tongue a bit – and he felt a tingle pass through him. At least it was getting better. He continued with this technique, pouring himself three more shots before he started to notice a difference.

As he sat there, sipping his alcohol like it was coffee, the hilarity of the situation sunk in on him. Here he was, a sixteen-year-old wizard, who was taking shots like Uncle Vernon drank his morning coffee. And, even better, wasn't coffee supposed to _cure_ a hangover? Harry was almost positive that each shot more wasn't going to help his headache tomorrow!

He started laughing at this. Really laughing. Don't ask me why. I think it's pretty obvious. Do I have to spell it out for you? I do? Okay, here goes.

H-E. L-O-S-T. H-I-S. S-H-I-T. B-E-C-A-U-S-E. H-E. W-A-S. D-R-U-N-K. O-F-F. H-I-S. A-S-S!

Was that so hard to get?

Harry was rolling around on the floor, laughing his ass off at his situation. He was the boy wonder (no, not the gaywad Robin in tights), the savior of the wizarding world. And here he was, taking shots by himself. It was fucking hysterical. Or, rather, _he_ was hysterical.

There were tears pouring down his face as he reached up to pour himself another shot, and suck it out of the shot glass _painfully_ slowly. He made the most screwed-up face yet, and slammed the glass down onto the table, ready to throw up. Unfortunately, the glass shattered when it hit the bar, and Harry stared at it, dumbfounded.

He watched the unmoving glass for a good three minutes, trying to comprehend. Then he snorted, pulling out his wand to mend it. He pointed his wand at the glass, and searched around in his head for the right incantation.

"_Incendio!_" He shouted. He smiled wanly, waiting for the glass to mend itself seamlessly. Unfortunately, Harry seemed to have overlooked the fact that he was wasted, and therefore should not have attempted magic.

Harry watched in horror as a fire sprung up, only fueled on by the alcohol remnants from the glass. He screamed, and attempted to blow out the fire. It didn't work. Well, I mean, _no shit_, but still. He picked up his invisibility cloak, about to attempt to beat the fire down.

He rethought, and picked up the bottle of liquor, sure that he would be able to drown the flame. Right as he was tipping the bottle, a self-assured, cocky grin on his face, he heard a click, and the door swung open.

Harry's head swiveled comically, a very dopey look on his uncomprehending face.

The figure in the doorway paused, taking in the scene before it. The figure cursed, and strode over to Harry.

"_Aguimenti,_" The – distinctly male – voice growled. A spout of water shot from the stranger's wand, effectively putting out the small fire. Harry looked up at the man, who was standing right behind him, and thought that he looked familiar.

"Stranger Danger™," Harry said suddenly, very obviously directing it at the man. "You see, I'm really not supposed to talk to strangers. But you look familiar…ish. And you saved me from the fire! It would have killed me! But Stranger Danger™ says that people will sometimes be nice to trick you into their van. They say that, if I take your candy, it'll hurt me! And then I won't be able to kill Michael Jackson!" Harry sobbed, clutching onto the man's shirt.

The man looked down at Harry, clearly confused, concerned, and extremely entertained.

"Okay, I won't give you any candy, as long as you hand me that bottle," The man said slowly, pointing to the liquor. Harry whimpered and clutched to the alcohol.

"No! It's my favorite not-coffee! It tastes like shit! But it makes the world go away! I need the world to go away, because Michael Jackson is so FUCKING UGLY!" Harry yelled the last two words, and broke down again. The stranger let out a soft chuckle, and started stroking Harry's hair.

"Harry, who is Michael Jackson?" The voice asked tentatively. Harry sniffled, and looked up at the stranger.

"He's that guy. The one that's _way_ paler than is natural – we all know he went through some secret procedure – and has a messed up nose. He has the power to control the dead – and dance with them! He's evil incarnate, and I can't take it! He killed my parents! And he tried to rape me! Not the first little boy, I'm telling you!"

The man stared at Harry for a full minute, then suddenly burst out laughing.

"Harry, you mean that muggle popstar?" The voice asked, the hysteria clear in his voice. Harry nodded shyly. "Don't worry, Harry, he dies in the near future," Harry perked up immediately. "But, I'm pretty sure that the one that you're supposed to kill is You-Know-Who. And I think that he may be a tad bit worse than Michael Jackson…"

Harry groaned.

"There's someone worse than _Michael Jackson?_ Oh, fuck! Now we're all screwed!"

The soft voice laughed in Harry's ear, and Harry felt soft lips graze his cheek. He opened his eyes (he hadn't even realized that he'd closed them), and found himself staring into the most beautiful stormy grey color ever.

"Oh no!" Harry groaned, slumping sideways in defeat.

"What?" The voiced asked, obviously concerned.

"Well, now we're all going to have to stay in doors and away from windows!" Harry complained.

"Why?" The voice asked confusedly.

"Because I can see the storm right in front of me! It's beautiful, sure! But it's going to kill us all! It's the most magnificent storm grey! We're _doomed!_" Harry wailed, clutching his hand into the stranger's shirt again. The strangler chuckled, gently prying Harry's fingertips from his shirt.

"Harry, do you even know who I am?" The stranger asked tentatively.

"Of course I do," Harry said haughtily, stumbling backwards to sit on a barstool.

"Then who am I?"

"Uh..." Harry squinted at the man, but it was hard to see him, because of the dim lighting. He could, however, see the platinum blond hair on the figure's head. "Oh, shit!"

The stranger, who Harry now guessed was none other than Draco Malfoy, tilted his head to the side.

"You're Malfoy! Perfect! Just fucking _perfect!_ Because I came up here so that I wouldn't have to feel stupid or bad or anything, and here _you_ are! Just... here! And now I'm sad."

Draco chuckled at the face that Harry made at the end of his little rant.

"You know, Harry, you're much funnier when you're drunk," He commented lightly, sitting down on the barstool next to Harry's.

Harry turned to Draco, giving him a death glare and childishly sticking out his tongue.

"Prick," Harry muttered. Much to Harry's displeasure, Draco laughed at him. "Don't laugh at me. It's not funny that I've been drinking too many shottttttssssss..." Harry slurred out the last word.

"On the contrary; it's _hilarious_. But don't mind me; continue on with your shots," Draco shrugged, turning away as though to say 'I'm not watching'.

Harry continued to stare at Draco.

"How did you find me?" The black-haired boy asked.

"As strange as it sounds, I was actually coming up to this room, myself. In your haste, you seem to have forgotten to ask the door to vanish once you'd entered."

Harry groaned.

"Oh, and you seem to have left this," Draco pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket, "Outside of the room. I felt the need to bring it in to you."

"But... how did you get in?"

"Through the door."

"Smartass. I mean, what did you say to the door?" Harry insisted.

Draco's face colored slightly. "The same thing as you, I imagine."

"So, you have nothing to lose?"

"Nope," Draco said nonchalantly, but his posture was stiff.

"Right..." Harry looked around awkwardly. "I think I'll just continue drinking, now."

"Okay," Draco muttered, facing front but watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Probably a good idea; you're sounding considerably less-drunk by the second. Are you quite sure you weren't faking?"

"Fuck you."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Draco asked cheekily, winking. Harry turned red, but rolled his eyes.

Harry poured another glass for himself as Draco watched him discretely. Harry '_hmph_'ed at the man next to him, feeling a bit self conscious. He decided to ignore his company, and brought the glass to his lips. He tipped his head back the slightest bit, and let the alcohol pour across his tongue, as though to show Malfoy just how tough he was (being able to stomach the vile drink). As he set the glass down (intentionally lightly) on the tabletop, he heard a tinkling and contagious laugh break out from next to him.

Harry blinked at the sudden outburst of sound, swiveling his head to look at the blond next to him. The slight man was doubled over, shaking with laughter. Harry colored a bit, embarrassed to be laughed at for no apparent reason.

"What?" Harry asked, made nervous by the laughter for two reasons. One, it may not have been particularly nasty laughter, but it was still humiliating. Two, seeing the taller man like this was having a very... er... _interesting_ effect on his alcohol-ridden body.

"Harry, is that how you've been drinking this entire time?" Malfoy asked once he'd calmed himself down a bit, still looking deeply amused.

"Er... no?" Harry said, the answer sounding more like a question.

"Then, would you mind showing me how you've been taking those shots?" Malfoy asked politely. Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher any malicious intentions. Seeing no possible threats, Harry shrugged, pouring more liquid into the shotglass. He brought it to his lips, doing that same sipping technique that he'd been doing all night. He sucked until all of the alcohol had hit the back of his throat, and consequently slipped down into his stomach. After he'd set the glass down, Harry turned to Malfoy with his arms raised as though to say '_big deal!'_

The facial expression that Harry found residing on Draco was enough to make him worry for the blond's health. His face was twisted up in a way that looked nearly painful, and a dull flush was covering the normally-pale skin of his face.

"Uh... Malfoy?" Harry asked tentatively, head still spinning from the last shot.

"Yeah?" Malfoy squeaked out, voice cracking.

"... Are you alright?"

"..."

At that, Malfoy burst out into earth-shattering laughter, slumping from his stool to the floor. Harry stared on in amazement, not sure if he should go and find Madam Pomfrey.

"Harry, I think I know why you haven't been having the best time, tonight," Draco managed to squeeze out between the spasms of laughter rocking through his frame.

"And why might that be?" Harry slurred, crossing his arms. He felt defensive and made fun of by the hysterical teen on the floor.

"Let me show you how to correctly take a shot of liquor."

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><p>(AN): So, I just really had to cut this off here so that I could post it for you guys! A second chapter WILL come (the rate at which I write is directly proportional to the amount of reviews I get) eventually! Oh, and regarding certain other stories that I really should be updating, I seem to have lost nearly all of my inspiration! Send me some prompts or ideas! Someone already did, and it got me writing a bit! ANYWHORE... hope you had fun, see you next chapter!

*Lesser-Than Three*


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